


Hi-ho Sneezy, Away!

by bratfarrar



Series: Canon (more or less) [15]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:34:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bratfarrar/pseuds/bratfarrar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John teaches Ronon how to ride. More or less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hi-ho Sneezy, Away!

**Author's Note:**

> for Kriadydragon

“You never rode anything on Sateda?” John asked, shifting slightly in the saddle so that he was better balanced. The stirrups were set a little longer than he was used to and it kept throwing things just enough out of whack to be uncomfortable.  
  
“Drove a crawler for while, when we still had the supplies for it.” Ronon clutched at the saddle awkwardly, more like an eight-year-old than the highly-coordinated fighter he was. It made John wish dimly for a camera, if only for revenge over the whole purple-spotted chicken fiasco with Rodney. But John’s gran had always said that revenge never actually made things better, and anyway he’d left the camera with Teyla because she was the least likely to do anything stupid with it, himself included. Even though she never could get the zoom quite right.  
  
“What kind of animal is that?”  
  
“Machine. Carried about eight people and three to five platform guns.” Ronon sounded almost wistful. “I got to fire the guns a couple times.”  
  
“That’s . . . nice,” John said cautiously, unsure, as always, of how to react when Ronon actually talked about Sateda. “But probably not much help for the current situation.”  
  
“Why not?” Ronon’s tone suggested he didn’t really care, but John answered anyway because some things just couldn’t be borne.  
  
“Because you don’t steer an animal by wrenching its head in the direction you want it to go in,” John said, wincing as Ronon started to do just that. “If you keep that up, Sneezy’s mouth is going to start bleeding.”  
  
The look Ronon gave him in response to that went beyond incredulous and came within kissing distance of _are you insane?_  
  
“It’s a giant lizard.”  
  
“It’s a giant _trained_ lizard, Ronon. Look—I barely need to twitch the reins and Blackie knows where I want him to go.” John pirouetted his lizard neatly around a bush in demonstration. “Seriously, ease up a little. Sneezy’ll be more cooperative if you do, I promise.”  
  
“Hey, Sheppard, did you get lost again?” Rodney sounded crankier than usual on the radio. “We’ve been waiting here almost fifteen minutes.”  
  
“Nah, just got sidetracked trying to teach Ronon how to ride. We should meet you in another five or so.” Or ten—the map he had wasn’t drawn exactly to scale.  
  
“You’re teaching Ronon how to ride?”  Really, why wasn’t anyone taking him seriously today?  
  
“Five minutes, Rodney,” John repeated, and nudged his lizard into the somewhat slithery equivalent of a canter. Beside him, Ronon wordlessly followed suit, visibly tightening his grip on the saddle, although John was gratified to see him loosen the reins a little. Not enough, but it was something.  
  
Too bad the lizards couldn’t jump.


End file.
